


the girl she left behind.

by beatrixfranklin



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26879506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beatrixfranklin/pseuds/beatrixfranklin
Summary: loss does not always breed loss.
Relationships: Lucille Anderson & Trixie Franklin, Lucille Anderson/Valerie Dyer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	the girl she left behind.

You are used to loss.

Everyone leaves, in the end.

You don’t admit that it bothers you anymore.

Lucille hasn’t learned your gift yet, hasn’t suffered through as many broken bonds, hasn’t watched friend after friend vacate in a flurry.

That is why you hear her.

Sobs that come from unspoken pain, forbidden love left to wilt and die.

You’re passing briefly on your way back in.

You choose not to become entangled.

That path will choose you.

She will choose you.

The way she mourns the other half of her heart, the way she clings at the burgundy cardigan that used to wrap around a taller frame, the tracks of tears that line her cheeks like shimmery star-trails.

You can’t refuse to see yourself any longer.

You know what it is to lose a love that you couldn’t really have in the first place.

You’re aware of the burden of heartbreak, especially when it is one that burdens you and you alone.

That is why it is you who offers the spare bed.

Besides, the sheets are left cold, pressed neat, as they were the night Valerie slipped out of the main entrance.

She’s hesitant.

She needs to know she is safe, that you understand the complex tangle of knots in her chest better than anyone else.

This time when she cries, you are there.

She leans into your chest, lets you hold her, swaying gently from side to side.

It would be untruthful to say you didn’t let your own pain out alongside her.

She’s adamant Valerie will write.

That she will greet the postman one morning, receiving an envelope addressed to her.

Uniform letters, that playful handwriting, a neat stamp pressed carefully and securely.

All that comes is bills and letters unrelated to the love she’s lost.

She takes residence in your arms, by your side, more than she does Valerie’s bed.

Her bed.

You don’t mind it.

There’s not a pair of your silk pyjamas left without a patch of salt at the shoulder.

Your heart beats tenfold as she sinks into your arms each night, her own heart heavy.

The smell of vanilla, of soft, sweet innocence.

It wraps around you just as your arms wrap around Lucille. 

It is in a quiet hour, as she sleeps soundly, pressed to your chest, her mind finally peaceful, that you break yourself.

You cry quietly, bitterly.

Valerie’s departure has dragged up too much for you.

Although you admit, as the figure beside you sighs, finding your waist to drape her arm over,

Loss does not always breed more loss. 


End file.
